


The Execution of All Things

by menel



Series: Under the Black Light [4]
Category: Justified
Genre: Developing Relationship, Episode Tag, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-09
Updated: 2013-05-21
Packaged: 2017-12-10 21:22:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/790299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/menel/pseuds/menel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drew Thompson is finally caught. Raylan moves in. Is this happily ever after?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Closing In

**Author's Note:**

> This fic picks up the morning after “You Are What You Love (Not What Loves You Back).” Following the timeline of Season 4, it covers the events in the last five episodes. Finally, continuing the whole Jenny Lewis song title theme, this title is from Rilo Kiley’s excellent album of the same name, not to mention the equally excellent song.

“Don’t be a smartass!” 

Tim was frozen for a moment as Art pinned him with a patented Art-glare, only this time it’s been magnified by a hundred. He’s quietly impressed that Raylan has finally managed to make their boss go ballistic. Then Art turned and stalked into his office. Tim’s hand was already on his handset, fingers dialing a number that he knows by heart. 

“You’re calling ‘cos Art’s pissed.” 

“You have no idea,” Tim replied, eyes on Art who was pacing back and forth in his office talking into his own phone. 

“I got some idea.” 

Raylan sounded much too calm, which means that he sounded like himself and not someone who was in a truckload of shit for driving off into the sunset with the man who just killed his father. 

“How’s Deputy Dunlop faring?” 

Tim took his eyes off of Art’s pacing to look in the direction of Nelson Dunlop who was morosely sitting at his desk, no doubt contemplating the stupidity of his actions . . . and probably cursing the Givens’ charm. 

“Oh, he’s looking at a bright future in mall security thanks to you.” 

“I’ll make it up to him.” 

Tim inwardly smiled at the thought of what that would translate into in Raylan’s head. In Deputy Dunlop’s place, he knows what he’d ask for. Then he’s relieved that Deputy Dunlop would never think of _that_. 

“You neglected to mention this little detour in your plans last night.” 

“Plausible deniability and all that,” Raylan answered. “Besides, you’re in Art’s good books. Wanted to make sure it stays that way.” 

“That’s very considerate of you.” 

“I’m a considerate kinda guy.” 

Tim could all but see the casual shrug that would accompany that statement. “You gotta know better than thinking you can hurt him,” he said, shifting their conversation into more serious territory. 

“I can hurt him a little, can’t I?” 

“Raylan.” 

“I’m just gonna sort a few things out before I drop the man off safe and sound at Leoville.” 

“Such as?” 

“I just wanna know who hired him to hit Arlo. Dixie Mafia, maybe. That’s my first thought. Could be Boyd but given their history, I don’t know how that works.” 

“You know Art’s got locals out looking for you.” 

“That’s to be expected.” 

“Meaning maybe you could use some help.” 

“Well, Tonto. What did you have in mind?” 

“Oh, the usual. Run interference. Buy you some time. Go up to Harlan. Poke around the places that need poking. Besides, I got something I want to check out up there anyway.” 

“Deputy Gutterson, I do believe I’m having a negative influence on you.” 

“Don’t I know it,” Tim said, watching as Art took his pacing out of his office and into the main office area. He dropped his voice slightly. “What do you need me to do?” 

“Seriously, Tim. Don’t put yourself out. I’ve got this handled.” 

“I’d call this the calm before the storm except the shit’s already hit the fan. Plus, I think you’re missing the point about having a sidekick.” 

“What lead are you following up on?” Raylan abruptly asked. 

“Come again?” 

“You said you had something to check out, up in Harlan. It sounded personal.” 

Damn. How did Raylan _do_ that? 

“Tim?” 

“The Lexington PD called me into a crime scene this morning,” Tim said, somewhat resignedly. “Mark’s former drug dealer was murdered. Turns out that Mark was there when whatever happened went down and . . . well . . . he was killed too.” 

“Shit, Tim. I’m sorry.” 

“Thanks.” Tim paused. “Y’know, Mark sent me a text message when it happened. It didn’t make any sense when I first read it, but now that I know the circumstances I got some idea of what it might mean.” 

“Listen, I gotta go,” Raylan said apologetically. “This is our stop. Do what you gotta do in Harlan and I’ll call you when I have something.”

* * * * *

Tim didn’t know what sort of shit Raylan got up to for the rest of the day, but after stalling Art and misdirecting some of the local troops, he left the office after lunch and headed up to Harlan. He had only one destination in mind and that was Johnny’s Bar, otherwise known as Boyd Crowder’s HQ. He parked his SUV in a side street across from the bar that gave him a clear view of the parking area. He’d be able to see anybody who entered or left the place. Since he’d arrived, everything had been quiet. Stakeouts were all about patience, a trait he had in abundance thanks to his sniper training. It was only two hours later when Johnny’s Bar began to show signs of life. Colt pulled up in his pick-up and went inside. Tim sat up a little straighter in the driver’s seat. It wasn’t too long before Colt came out again, this time with Boyd Crowder right behind him. Boyd looked determined. He went straight to his own pick-up and drove off immediately, but Tim wasn’t interested in him. No, he was interested in Colt, who, after Boyd had driven off, had repeatedly hit the steering wheel of his pick-up in frustration. Then Tim watched as Colt proceeded to shoot himself up in the front seat. Mark had been right on that score and Tim felt something in his chest tighten. He had a feeling about Colt and his instincts were rarely wrong. When Colt finally put his pick-up into gear and drove out of the parking lot, Tim backed out of the side street and followed him.

Tim didn’t know where Colt was headed. It was to one of the hollers that he hadn’t visited before, but that wasn’t saying much. There were so many hollers and side roads in Harlan that still didn’t appear on any kind of map that Tim could easily get turned around. But Colt seemed to know where he was going and Tim followed a safe distance behind. Eventually they pulled into a clearing where makeshift tents had been put up. What passed for a parking area was deserted except for one or two vehicles and Colt’s pick-up. Tim parked and began looking around the tents. He appeared to be in some sort of makeshift church. It didn’t take him long to find Colt in the largest tent, the one clearly meant to be the main gathering area for the congregation. He wasn’t planning on making his presence known, that is, until Colt began threatening the young woman in the tent. Colt was high and his mood unpredictable. Tim had no choice but to enter the tent with his gun drawn. Colt let the woman go and turned to face Tim, slowly removing the gun from underneath his shirt and holding it casually by his side, his finger not even on the trigger. 

“Don’t do that,” Tim warned him. 

He didn’t think Colt would listen but then something unexpected – perhaps fortuitous – happened. Boyd Crowder appeared. 

“I’m a Deputy U.S. Marshal,” Tim had barked without turning around. 

“I know who are you are, Deputy,” Boyd had replied from behind him in a placating tone. “We don’t want no trouble here. Colt, put that gun away.” 

Colt’s reflexes were sluggish and his gaze moved slowly from Tim before settling on Boyd. For a moment, Tim didn’t think Colt would obey Boyd’s order and Boyd must’ve had the same thought because he repeated it. 

“Colt,” he said, a clear warning now in his tone. “Put that gun away.” 

Colt finally did as told and Boyd kept right on talking. 

“Ma’am,” he said, addressing the woman whom Colt had assaulted. “I apologize on behalf of my friend. He meant no offense. And Deputy, since there’s been no harm caused here, I’d just like to take my friend and leave.” 

Tim knew that how this business would turn out rested on him. He was within his rights to haul Colt in if he wanted to. He still had his gun drawn on the other man and although Colt was no longer threatening to shoot him, it hadn’t dulled the challenge in his eyes. If Boyd hadn’t turned up when he had, Tim suspected that things would’ve gone very differently. He put down his weapon, and immediately the tension in the tent dissipated. 

“Come on, Colt. Let’s go,” Boyd said. 

Tim tried not to think too much about how that sounded like a master calling his dog. Colt walked by him, affecting a fake cough as he brushed by the marshal that almost made Tim roll his eyes. A moment later, he was alone in the tent with the woman Colt had threatened. 

“You all right?” he asked her. 

“Just a little shook up is all,” she said, managing a weak smile. “It’s not the first time I’ve dealt with folks like him. Most of the people who come to my brother’s congregation are hard up in some way.” 

“Your brother’s congregation?” 

“Yes, this is his Church. He . . . was . . . the preacher here.” 

Tim’s not sure how it happened but that simple conversation snowballed into a full-on confession and Tim, who’s never been much for religion, much less the bible-thumping variety of some of the more devout in Kentucky, somehow turned into a priest of sorts for this strange woman (her name was Cassie) to unburden herself. Tim wasn’t all that surprised. He’d always been praised for his listening skills and scored highly on those empathy tests he’d taken in the past. Still, it’d been a while since a complete stranger felt this free to talk to him and Cassie had a lot to say. She was carrying around a lot of guilt and anger, probably vengeance too, and it turns out she wasn’t much for religion herself. Tim listened quietly as they sat in his SUV eating a take-out dinner. He’d decided to stay in Harlan after the run-in with Colt. Even though it was getting late, he was sure that Raylan would call at some point. As if on cue, his phone began to ring. 

“Gotta go,” he told Cassie, already knowing who it was even before he glanced at the caller ID. 

“Thanks,” she said. “It’s been a while since someone shown any kindness.” 

Tim was touched by her words and he gave her a faint smile as he answered his phone. 

“Still in Harlan?” 

“Been waiting for you to call.” 

“I need you to meet me at Shelby Parlow’s house.” 

“All right.” 

“Hey Tim, you found what you were looking for?” 

Tim glanced at Cassie who was eating the last of her dinner. “I found something,” he said. “See you in a few.” 

By the time Tim turned up at Shelby’s, Raylan had the area mobilized with state troops and local law enforcement. It took him a nanosecond to put two and two together. 

“You’re kidding,” he said in disbelief as Raylan walked over to meet him. 

Raylan shook his head. 

“This guy was riding around with you for two whole days.” 

“Don’t rub it in or anything,” Raylan said, giving Tim one of his sideways glances. “You’re on sniper duty.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

They hunkered down in Shelby’s house and waited, Raylan by the window and Tim not too far away, his rifle trained on the front door. Only one person entered the darkened house during that time and as the laser of Tim’s rifle honed in on the man’s chest, the expression on Boyd Crowder’s face was priceless as he found himself in handcuffs once again. 

“Drew-goddamn-Thompson,” Boyd muttered. 

They waited a while longer after capturing Boyd, who was now handcuffed and sitting on the floor next to the window where Raylan was on guard. When it was pretty clear that Drew wasn’t planning on coming home, Raylan called it quits. He started a room-by-room search of the house, pulled up a map and marked out places to put up roadblocks. 

When Tim reentered the house after relaying instructions to the state police, it was to the sound of Boyd trying to needle Raylan, and damn if that relationship still wasn’t a puzzle to him. Raylan never talked about it, but in every interaction that Tim’s witnessed between the two men he could always sense something simmering beneath the surface, a kind of tension that he could never quite decipher. Tim believed that deep down Raylan considered Boyd to be a friend in some way, no matter how twisted that friendship must be. Boyd probably felt the same way. There’s too much history between them, too much of the past for them to ever be free of it. Tim doesn’t understand (couldn’t possibly know) the intricacies of their . . . relationship, but he doesn’t think he’s ever seen a purer expression of a love/hate friendship. Too often he thinks that Raylan and Boyd are two sides of the same coin, and maybe that’s why Boyd gets under Raylan’s skin. It’s certainly the tactic that Boyd’s using on him tonight with all his talk of outlaws. 

“They’re gonna put the word out and start throwing up those roadblocks,” Tim said, ignoring Boyd and walking towards Raylan. 

“He’s too smart to get snared that way, but it may buy us some time,” Raylan answered, combing through more of Shelby’s belongings. 

“Women’s clothing?” Tim questioned, watching Raylan go through a basket of freshly laundered clothes. 

“Well, he was married,” Raylan said with a sigh. “She left him twenty-five years ago.” 

It’s at that moment that Boyd’s little monologue captures both their attentions and they turn to look at him. 

“You should ‘a been on the _other_ side. With me and your daddy. Oh, you’d still be able to shoot people. _And_ be an asshole. Your two favorite activities. Except you’d be a _rich_ asshole.” 

Tim glanced at Raylan, beating back the wave of concern that washed over him. That asshole had to bring up Arlo. He could feel the tension ratchet up between the two men, so thick that it was almost suffocating. Raylan’s reply was calm, mocking but with a touch of menace. 

“More like dead or in jail.” 

“Well, I’m doing just fine.” 

“Yeah? How about Arlo?” 

“I have been meaning to get by and see your daddy.” 

“That’s funny ‘cos I was just thinking. You keep running your mouth and I’d like to go ahead and arrange that.” 

“Oh, you gonna arrest me now for talking?” 

“Who said shit about arresting you?” 

Boyd was about to comeback with a reply but when he opened his mouth, nothing came out. He looked puzzled, as if he was trying to parse Raylan’s meaning. It occurred to Tim at that moment, just as surely as it must have occurred to Raylan, that Boyd hadn’t yet heard about Arlo’s death. Whatever Boyd was planning to say was interrupted by the entrance of Rachel. 

“Excuse me, Ma’am,” Boyd said in the most gentlemanly way possible. “These two gentlemen are holding me against my will.” 

“Shut up,” Rachel said, dismissing him instantly. 

Tim could’ve hugged her. “That was fast,” he remarked instead. 

Rachel stood in front of Tim and Raylan in her businesslike, no-nonsense manner. “Art didn’t want to see you two left alone,” she answered. 

“He said that?” Raylan asked, genuinely surprised. 

Tim had to fight back a laugh. Art was wising up to them. 

“Where you at?” Rachel asked impatiently. 

“Got nothing,” Tim said matter-of-factly. 

“We got roadblocks and a suspicious woman’s underwear,” Raylan replied. 

“Like I said,” Tim repeated. 

Of course, less than five minutes after Rachel arrived, Raylan was struck with an idea and he was out the door with Rachel and Tim following behind. 

“It would be nice if he actually shared things from time to time,” Tim commented as the two of them trudged after Raylan’s long strides. 

“He shares more with you than he does with me,” Rachel pointed out. 

Tim had to concede that but he said, “He’s selective.” 

“Y’know, when Raylan catches this guy, he could conceivably be our boss.” 

“You sound pretty sure he’ll succeed.” 

“You’re not?” 

“I wouldn’t bet against him.” 

“I’m more interested in what happens afterwards,” Rachel admitted. “I mean, can you imagine Wyatt Earp running the office? It’ll be interesting.” 

Tim couldn’t help but laugh at her description. And ‘interesting’ was certainly an euphemistic way of putting it. “I think of him as the Lone Ranger myself,” he said. “But yeah, it’ll be interesting.” 

‘Interesting’ didn’t quite cover ‘sleeping with the boss,’ or even ‘living with the boss,’ but these were things Tim kept to himself. Closing this case would be a big deal, probably bump Raylan up a few pay grades, and get him a promotion, not to mention his choice of assignment. Secretly, what Tim was really wondering was when all of this was done was . . . would Raylan stick around?


	2. Afterglow

Tim stood outside the abandoned Harlan County high school, surrounded by squad cars, the Lexington S.W.A.T. van, and other assorted law enforcement vehicles. In the distance, he could see the old baseball diamond and rundown bleachers that had first put this crazy-inspired idea into Raylan’s head. Even though the chase was over and Drew Thompson was in Lexington by now, the blood still thrummed through Tim’s veins. He was feeling the effects of the combat high, something he hadn’t felt to quite this extent since his days as a Ranger. That coupled with the fact that he hadn’t slept in forty-eight hours and the amount of caffeine in his system meant that his fight or flight response was in overdrive. _Fight or fuck_ , he mentally amended as he watched Raylan part ways with a group of marshals and state troopers and head in his direction. Raylan was still wearing his tac gear and he never looked better to Tim. 

“So, this was your old high school?” he asked casually when Raylan reached him. 

“A bastion of learning,” Raylan replied. 

Tim grinned at the mocking tone. “You had an astronaut land in your back porch,” he pointed out. “That never happened in my high school.” 

“That astronaut was a big deal,” Raylan agreed. 

“Big enough that Boyd remembered it too,” Tim said, somewhat distractedly. 

Raylan gave him a funny look just then that Tim couldn’t quite process. His brain was distracted by other things. 

“Y’know,” he said slowly. “If we weren’t out in the middle of a parking lot surrounded by cops, I’d go down on you right now.” 

“Jesus, Tim,” Raylan said, his voice loud enough that a few state troopers near them looked in their direction. 

Tim was feeling reckless, the fight or fuck response putting him in dangerous territory, but somehow he managed to casually shrug at Raylan’s words. “What can I say?” he said quietly. “Too much adrenaline, caffeine, not enough sleep and you in that tac gear is making me hard.” 

Raylan was looking at him again, but this time Tim recognized the calculating gaze and the bit of mischief in the other man’s eyes. 

“Hey, Art,” Raylan called out to their boss who was making his way through the parking lot. “I got some stuff I need to take care of back at my house. You good here?” 

“Just about done,” Art called back. “You need some Staties to help you?” 

“Nah, Tim and I got it covered. We’ll see you back at Lexington.” 

“Just in time for me to suspend you.” 

Raylan shook his head but gave Art a final wave before turning back to Tim. “Where you parked?” 

Tim waved in the general direction of his SUV and before he knew it, Raylan had grasped him by the arm and was propelling him in that direction. 

“I thought I was the eager one,” Tim commented when they reached his vehicle. 

“You’re the one talking about blowjobs in the middle of a crime scene,” Raylan returned, opening the door to the driver’s side. 

“This is my car,” Tim pointed out as Raylan got in and took the wheel. 

“And I can get us to my house quicker,” Raylan replied. 

Tim could see the logic in that and so he got in the passenger’s side. Still, he couldn’t help but add, “Not if I blow you on the way.” 

Raylan shot him a half-incredulous, half-amused look as he maneuvered out of the parking lot, and Tim wondered whether or not he should make good on his own suggestion.

* * * * *

The drive was short and without incident, although Tim kept a steady drumming with his fingers on the panel of the SUV’s passenger door. He knew it was a tad irritating, but it also meant that his hands weren’t wandering anywhere they shouldn’t.

When they got to Raylan’s house, they discovered that the state police had indeed done their job. The front door was already blocked by the familiar yellow tape of a crime scene, which Raylan simply tore aside as he entered. The living room was a total mess, but Yolo’s body had already been taken out, leaving a taped outline on the floor where he had died. There was a fair amount of blood on the furniture and on the floor, and most of it probably belonged to Constable Bob. Tim surveyed the damage while Raylan disappeared. When he returned a few minutes later, Tim threw him a questioning look. 

“Turned off the motion detectors,” Raylan explained. “I had Bob install them to prevent kids from looting and stuff.” 

“That’s how this whole thing started, isn’t it? Through motion detectors.” 

“Bob likes his surveillance. Not that I expect him to come barging in on us given his condition,” Raylan added. 

“How’s he doing?” 

“He took a helluva beating but he’s a lot tougher than he looks.” Raylan paused and gave Tim his own pointed look. “You. Bedroom. Now.” 

“I don’t remember you being this bossy in the beginning,” Tim commented, as Raylan practically hauled him into the bedroom. 

“A lot’s changed since then,” Raylan replied as they got to work stripping each other. 

Stripping was something they’d always been particularly efficient at from the start. Another thing that hadn’t changed was Tim on his back, hands braced against the ironwork headboard while Raylan nailed him to the mattress. _Better than a blowjob_ , Tim thought as he met Raylan’s hard thrusts. Tim didn’t think he’d ever grow tired of this, of the fullness of Raylan filling him, of the slow burn of Raylan moving inside him, of the taste of his sweat and of the weight of his body. When he came, the sound was muffled by Raylan’s mouth over his own and this _was_ different. Tim arched into the kiss, his blood still thrumming as Raylan finished himself off. Then it was the cool of the afternoon breeze over their heated bodies and Raylan still kissing him, slow and languid as Tim came down from his high. Raylan withdrew and Tim knew the moment that Raylan was going to move off of him. He wanted to prolong the moment and so he wrapped his legs around Raylan’s hips, locking the other man in place, for once not caring that they were a sticky mess. Raylan had already pushed his weight onto his arms, but after giving Tim a contemplative look, he obliged by settling back down without putting his full weight on the other man. _This was new too_ , Tim thought as he released his grip on the headboard and lightly began tracing Raylan’s back with his fingertips. There was a different sort of physical intimacy between them now, not the quick suck or fuck of the past, but the permission to linger, to explore, to bask in the afterglow. Tim could only handle so much sentimentality so the first words out of his mouth even took him by surprise. 

“Did we just have sex in your parents’ bed?” 

“Not my choice for pillow talk,” Raylan said, his voice slightly muffled from where he was resting his head on Tim’s shoulder. 

“We did, didn’t we?” 

Raylan propped himself up and looked down at the other man. “Well,” he began, “the bed in my old bedroom is too small. The living room is technically a crime scene. And we could’ve gone for the kitchen table but after the day we’ve had, I kinda wanted some place more comfortable and I thought you’d feel the same. ‘Course there’s the camper outside, but since that’s where Aunt Helen banished Arlo to, I thought that might even be weirder.” 

Tim sighed, but it was a sigh of contentment. He had to admit that the bed was comfortable. “Just for the record,” he said. “We’re having sex in _my_ bed tonight.” 

Raylan chuckled. “Fair enough,” he agreed. 

Tim finally released his hold on Raylan and Raylan rolled them both over to the side so that they were facing each other, legs still tangled together. 

“I’m starving,” Tim admitted. “I don’t suppose you got any food here?” 

“What do you think?” 

“Stupid question.” 

“We’ll pass by Lisette’s on the way back to Lexington.” 

“What exactly is the plan?” 

“I don’t think Art’s gonna mind if we take the rest of the day off.” 

“You told him we’d see him back at Lexington.” 

“At _some_ point . . .” 

“You’re just avoiding the paperwork.” 

“Hell, I’m practically suspended already.” 

Tim shook his head in mild exasperation. 

“Look,” Raylan said, fingers now tracing Tim’s hipbone. “If you wanna be a good Boy Scout – I’m sorry, _Eagle_ Scout – and report back to the office, go right ahead. I’ll go back to my place, pick up my stuff and meet you back at yours later.” 

This caught Tim’s attention. “Wait. You’re moving in today?” 

“That all right with you?” 

“When did you even find the time to pack?” 

Raylan shrugged. “Wasn’t much to pack.” 

Tim still couldn’t wrap his head around the idea that Raylan had agreed to move in with him. He’d never expected Raylan to agree when he’d thrown the suggestion out there. Now Raylan was the one who was moving quickly. Raylan never did anything half-assed. He was all-in or all-out, and it seemed that that philosophy applied to relationships too. Because that’s what this was now, right? A _relationship_. The one that he was trying not to freak out over, even though he’d been the one pushing Raylan in that direction. He couldn’t bring himself to voice these thoughts out loud, but it didn’t matter because Raylan was discouraging thought altogether when the fingers on his hipbone traveled lower until Raylan was stroking his cock. 

“Round two?” 

“Fuck.” 

“That’s the spirit.”

* * * * *

Another round after round two, Tim was hungrier than ever proving that sexual appetite was no substitute for actual appetite. They also had to track down Raylan’s car since they were going in separate ways once they reached Lexington. It had been used in the decoy caravan earlier that afternoon and they had both assumed that it had been driven to the high school. Their assumption proved correct, but once Art had found out that they’d left the high school in Tim’s SUV, he’d had another one of the marshals take the car back to the courthouse in Lexington.

“Guess I’m not the only one going back to work,” Tim had smirked at the news. 

“Thought you were hungry,” Raylan shot back. 

“Starved.” 

“Let’s go then.” 

Tim drove this time, following the directions Raylan gave him to Lisette’s, a diner on the outskirts of Harlan before they hit the highway. 

“That’s heart disease,” Tim said, gesturing towards the plate of fried chicken that Raylan had ordered. 

“And that’s diabetes,” Raylan replied, eyeing the massive stack of pancakes that Tim had in front of him, together with the pot of maple syrup and the healthy serving of cream cheese. 

“We’re allowed to indulge,” Tim said, proceeding to pour the maple syrup over his pancakes. Their waitress came by and refilled Tim’s mug with coffee, giving him a warm smile as she did so. 

“Don’t be surprised if she slips you her number on the receipt,” Raylan said when she moved to the next booth. 

“Not interested,” Tim said, slathering some of the cream cheese before cutting into the pancakes. As if to prove his point, he shifted his leg under the table, resting his calf against Raylan’s. The motion was so casual that there was clearly nothing casual about it. 

Raylan understood this as he met Tim’s gaze, but his attention was soon caught by the scene on the television. “Your handiwork?” he asked. 

Tim turned to see what Raylan was looking at. On the screen was a local news update about an as-yet unexplained explosion on the road that the decoy had driven by. That area had also been cordoned off by the state police and Tim’s guess that the other two abandoned vehicles had also contained explosives proved to be correct. 

“Your friendly neighborhood Molotov cocktail,” Tim answered, looking away from the screen. 

“Can’t beat the classics.” 

Tim grinned. “Art thought so too. Y’know,” he went on, after swallowing another forkful of pancakes. “That set-up was Colt’s play today. Off the oxy, he was on his game.” 

“He was the lead you were following up on,” Raylan commented. “Up in Harlan.” 

Tim nodded. 

“You think he killed your friend.” 

“I have my suspicions,” Tim confirmed. “And I don’t think today’s the last time I’ll hear from him either. You’re gonna have to deal with the press once word of this gets out,” he said, changing the subject. “What happened today is the sort of stuff CNN salivates over.” 

“Art and the higher-ups can handle the press,” Raylan replied. “Not exactly in it for the glory.” 

“It’s gonna find you anyway. It was bad press that brought you back here after all.” 

“And what are you saying? It’s good press that’s gonna get me out?” 

Raylan’s offhanded comment absolutely froze Tim, but thankfully Raylan was too occupied by his fried chicken to notice. Tim forced himself to relax, saying casually, “No, more like you attract trouble like nobody’s business, no matter where you are.” 

This made Raylan laugh. “Trouble does seem to like me. D’ye think it’s my personality?” 

“I think it’s your anger management issues,” Tim said. “And your hat.” 

“You think my _hat_ attracts trouble?” 

“I think your hat comes with a neon sign that says, ‘I dare you to fuck with me.’” 

“Well, Tim. You’ve certainly taken up that dare.” 

Tim almost choked and he gave Raylan a glare, which the other man merely smiled at. “Y’know who else attracted trouble like nobody’s business?” he asked when he could speak again. “Wyatt Earp.” 

“I beg to differ,” Raylan objected with a wave of a chicken leg. “Wyatt Earp went out and _looked_ for trouble.” 

“Oh, and you’re saying that you don’t?” 

Raylan shrugged. “Catching fugitives is part of the job description.” He paused. “Why are we talking about Wyatt Earp?” 

“Rachel called you that the other night,” Tim explained. “It just stuck.” 

“If I’m Wyatt Earp, that would make you Doc Holliday.” 

“Seeing as Doc Holliday was a crack shot alcoholic, I reckon I fit the bill.” 

“He was also a gambler,” Raylan reminded him. “Are you a gambler, Tim?” 

“Hell, I’m with you, aren’t I?”

* * * * *

By the time they arrived at the Lexington courthouse it was late afternoon and Raylan really didn’t see any point in going up to the office, but Tim was the stubborn sort and once he’d made up his mind that was it. Raylan found his car in its customary parking spot. Standing in front of the driver’s side, he dug into his right hand pocket realizing with exasperation that he didn’t have his keys. _Of course, you don’t have your keys. Idiot._ He sighed. Looks like he’d have to go to the office after all. He turned to his left only to see Rachel there, holding out a familiar key chain.

“Looking for this?” she asked with an arch of an eyebrow. 

Raylan smiled his thanks and took the key chain from her. “Tim send you?” he asked in reply. 

Rachel shook her head. “I was on my way out,” she explained. “He mentioned that you might be looking for your keys.” 

“Deputy Brooks, are you . . . leaving early?” 

“Deputy Givens, you didn’t turn up at all.” Rachel smiled. “Celebrating tonight?” 

“Um . . . no. Well, it hadn’t actually occurred to me,” Raylan admitted. 

“Raylan, you just closed one of the biggest, longest-running cases in the history of the F.B.I. and the U.S. Marshals service and it didn’t even occur to you to go out and have a drink? You live on top of a bar for god’s sake.” 

_Not for much longer_ , Raylan thought. What he said was, “Now that you put it that way, come over to the High Note and have a drink with me.” 

“What about Tim?” 

“I’ll send him a message.”

* * * * *

Sent to: Tim Gutterson  
Time: 17:09  
Rachel and I are at High Note. Join us?

Send to: Raylan Givens  
Time: 17:11  
Tied up with Art. See you at home. [Cancel message] 

Sent to: Raylan Givens  
Time: 17:12  
Tied up with Art. See you later. 

Sent to: Tim Gutterson  
Time: 17:15  
Don’t work too hard.

* * * * *

Tim slipped his mobile back into his pocket and took another drink of his bourbon. Schmoozing with Art, two AUSAs and the police chief in Art’s office was a different sort of work, and neither was it exactly Tim’s idea of a good time but the premium bourbon was helping. He was mildly irritated at Raylan, knowing that Art had dragged him into his office ‘cos Raylan hadn’t been around and the boss didn’t want to get stuck schmoozing with AUSAs either, bourbon or no bourbon. If only David Vasquez had been around, but no, he was MIA too. So that meant Tim had to play wingman to the boss. Two rounds of drinks later, Tim discovered that playing wingman extended to dinner given the look Art had fixed him when they’d left the building. Tim shrugged and followed them all to a steak house where even more bureaucrats turned up. He was going to kill Raylan. Then he realized that he’d have to excuse himself early since Raylan didn’t have a key to his place – their place? The thought of Raylan locked out of the house and waiting for him on the front porch almost made the evening worthwhile. Except that Tim wasn’t the vindictive sort and he really would rather be with Raylan than these suits.

“Hot date?” Art asked good-humoredly when Tim finally excused himself. He was skipping dessert and doubtless another round of drinks. 

“Yeah, with my pillow,” Tim replied. “See you in the morning, boss.” 

It was half-true, Tim reflected. The day had finally caught up with him and he was bone-tired, his head buzzing slightly from the drinks and the company. An early night was becoming an attractive idea. When he got back to his place, it was a little after eight and Raylan still wasn’t there. There were no messages on his phone either so Tim showered, changed and then collapsed on the couch, aimlessly channel-surfing while waiting. He must’ve dozed off ‘cos when he came to, it was to the sound of his own doorbell ringing. He dragged himself off the couch and opened the front door. 

“Did I wake you?” Raylan asked, taking in Tim’s disheveled appearance. 

“Get in here,” Tim said grumpily. 

Raylan smiled as he pushed himself off the wall. He was carrying one box in his arms. 

“You need help with the others?” Tim asked, gesturing at the box Raylan was holding. 

“Nah, we’ll get the rest in the morning,” Raylan replied. 

Tim nodded in agreement as Raylan walked over to the kitchen counter and put the box on top of it. 

“What happened to you? I figured you’d turn up at the High Note at some point.” 

“Art had other ideas,” Tim answered, sitting on one of the kitchen stools. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah and you owe me ‘cos I was your stand-in tonight.” 

“Did he torture you with his premium bourbon?” 

“His premium bourbon was a bribe. He tortured me with AUSAs, Lexington PD and god knows who else.” 

“Should’ve joined me at the High Note when you had the chance,” Raylan needled. “Rachel was much better company and the band was good tonight. It was that singer we both like.” He was rummaging through the freezer, apparently looking for something. 

“You really know how to make a guy feel appreciated.” 

Raylan paused in his actions and gave Tim a piercing look. “I _do_ appreciate you, Tim,” he said so seriously that Tim could’ve sworn that his heart skipped a beat. It was just so wrong that Raylan could make him feel like he was in high school all over again, except in high school he’d gone out with girls and pretended to like them, and there’d been no one as hot as Raylan where he grew up. 

“You mind?” Raylan asked, pulling out the quart of ice cream. 

Tim shook his head. “Third drawer,” he told Raylan. 

Raylan followed the instructions and pulled out two spoons. Then he walked over to where Tim was and handed him the other spoon. There were no stools on his side of the counter, so he remained standing as he opened the quart of ice cream. 

“Chunky Monkey?” 

Tim shrugged. “I like bananas,” he said, dipping his spoon inside and scooping a big chunk of banana in his ice cream. 

“I’m a pecan man myself,” Raylan divulged, scooping some ice cream after Tim. 

They ate for a while in silence and Tim thought about how surreal the whole affair seemed to him. Except that it felt kinda normal too, in a domestic sort of way and he had no idea where that was coming from. 

“Listen, don’t freak out or anything,” Raylan began, which was probably not the best opening line since Tim immediately felt tense. “But I told Rachel about this.” 

“Not _this_ ,” Raylan quickly corrected, gesturing between them with his spoon, as Tim’s eyes grew wide with shock. “I mean, the whole moving in thing,” he went on, now gesturing aimlessly around the kitchen. “She did help me carry the boxes to my car. Besides, it’s not like we could keep this a secret. People are bound to find out.” 

Actually, Tim had been naively hoping that they could’ve keep it a secret, at least for a little while but that idea was out the window now. “Why would I freak out?” he asked calmly, even though inwardly he was freaking out a little. 

Raylan studied him thoughtfully before shaking his head. “No reason,” he said. “Rachel liked the idea. She thought it was a sign of ‘maturity.’” 

“You mean as opposed to living in a motel or on top of a college bar?” 

Raylan grinned. “You still haven’t given me the grand tour,” he reminded Tim. 

Tim sighed. He didn’t have the energy for that now. He swiveled his stool and began pointing in various directions as he spoke. “Obviously, we’re in the kitchen. The living room you already know. Dining room over there, although I tend to eat meals here.” He motioned towards a small semi-circular breakfast table that was against the wall, just off the kitchen area and beside the large windows. “Bedrooms are down that way. Mine’s at the end of the hall and yours is the first door on the left. The bathroom’s right beside it. And there’s a laundry room behind the kitchen.” 

“This is a lot of space for one person,” Raylan commented. “It’s an actual house. I always figured you lived in an apartment. Less upkeep.” 

“Cleaning lady comes in once a week,” Tim went on. “Her name’s Rosa.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“I got a good deal from a real estate friend,” Tim explained. “It’s hard to sell a place when there’s been a double homicide-suicide as part of the full disclosure. A father shot his wife and daughter in the living room before blowing his head off.” 

“You’re shitting me.” 

“Yeah, I am.” Tim paused. “You sure you don’t want to bring your stuff in now?” 

Raylan shook his head. “It’s just three boxes.” 

“You packed your whole life into three boxes?” 

“I travel light. That . . . and I left most of my stuff in Miami.” 

“You still have a place in Miami?” 

Raylan shrugged. “Didn’t really think the move to Kentucky was going to be permanent.” 

“And now?” 

Raylan held Tim’s gaze as he said, “I got incentive to stay.” 

While ‘incentive’ didn’t translate into a definitive ‘yes,’ it was better than Tim had hoped for. He stood up.  
“Jesus, I’m tired.” 

“Better get your beauty sleep, then.” 

They’d finished the ice cream and Raylan tossed the empty container into the trash, rinsing the two spoons and then drying them. Tim led the way to the bedrooms only stopping when he realized that Raylan was no longer following him. He turned around to see Raylan leaning against the corridor beside the open doorway to the first bedroom. 

“This one’s mine, right?” 

“Um . . . yeah,” Tim said somewhat stupidly. Raylan didn’t actually think they were going to sleep in separate rooms, did he? But seeing as he wasn’t moving from his spot, maybe he did. 

“We’re going to be maintaining certain appearances, right?” 

_Whoa, way too serious_ , Tim thought. _Way too tired to be thinking about this shit now_. “I guess?” he hazarded. 

“Well, the best way for a room to look lived in is to . . . y’know . . . live in it a little.” 

_Shit._

“Break the bed in with me.” 

“Raylan, I’m gonna sleep.” 

“We can do that too.” 

Tim sighed. He wanted the comfort of his own bed, the softness of his own pillows, but he found himself trudging back down the hallway to Raylan’s room. “Sometimes, I really don’t like you,” he muttered as he passed by the other man on his way inside. 

Raylan laughed. “And that’s how I know this is going to work.” 

Tim really did collapse on the bed, but he still had the presence of mind to stay on the right side since he knew that Raylan preferred the left. He only had a vague sense of Raylan moving around, of the shower running in the bathroom next door. He barely felt the dip of the bed when Raylan finally joined him, but that didn’t prevent him from reflexively moving back into the warmth of the other man’s body.


	3. Loose Ends

It was six-thirty and Tim was wide-awake. He took in the familiar but unfamiliar room, the bed sheets that belonged to him, but were generally reserved for guests and most of all, the warm body that was soundly sleeping beside him. Normally, he’d be out of bed the moment he woke up and doing his usual routine – a quick workout, a shower, breakfast – but today was different. Really different. 

Tim was used to sleeping alone. He was an only child. He wasn’t big on relationships – didn’t have much opportunity actually, but that had never bothered him. He generally didn’t let people get close to him. Whenever he hooked up with someone, he always went to their place or to some cheap motel. He never stayed over and he never brought anyone home. Of course, it took just one person to break those rules and change those habits, and that one person was in bed with him now. 

Tim remembered the first time he had slept over at Raylan’s place. It had been purely by accident. He’d been blind drunk, the sort of blind drunk that led to passing out. They hadn’t even had sex that night. He had no recollection of going up to Raylan’s apartment, but he found himself in Raylan’s bed the next morning, under the covers and comfortably stripped down to his boxers and undershirt. His body clock had ignored its internal six-thirty alarm and when he woke up an hour and a half later, it was to the mother of all hangovers. But Raylan hadn’t been weird about the whole thing at all. He’d simply sat down on the bed next to Tim, handed him two aspirins (which Tim had gratefully accepted) and a glass of water to wash them down with. 

“I’ll tell Art you’ll be late,” Raylan had said. “You could call in sick but I know you won’t do that.” 

“Thanks,” Tim had mumbled as he’d buried himself back under the covers, trying to get away from the streaks of sunlight that were infiltrating the curtains. It was only much later in the day as he’d listened to some sob story of an ex-con whose past had caught up with him that it occurred to Tim that Raylan had taken care of him. 

The second time Tim had slept over, it was fatigue that had done him in. At least, they’d had sex that night. But afterwards, Tim had uncharacteristically dozed off. When he’d woken up, Raylan was just coming out of the bathroom. 

“You can stay, y’know,” Raylan had said casually as he’d put on a t-shirt. 

Normally, Tim wouldn’t have considered the option, but that night he’d just been too damn tired to drag himself out of bed, much less dress and drive back home. So, he stayed over and dreaded the morning after, but once again Raylan wasn’t weird about it and so Tim had followed his lead. After that, Raylan always extended the offer of staying over and Tim occasionally accepted. That is, until Tim figured out that Raylan made that offer indiscriminately. Just like Tim was used to sleeping alone, Raylan didn’t mind sharing his bed. Maybe that’s what happened when you were married for six years. Knowing that it wasn’t a big deal to Raylan, Tim began staying over more and more until Raylan stopped offering altogether since he just assumed Tim would stay and Tim did. And from all that they’d somehow ended up here, with Raylan now in Tim’s bed (metaphorically, sort of) for what seemed like the long haul. 

“If you broadcast any louder, aliens are gonna invade the planet.” 

Tim chuckled and turned over so that he was facing Raylan, who was lying on his back. “This is early for you,” he said, propping himself up on one hand. 

“Believe me, I’m aware,” Raylan groaned. “Shouldn’t you be up and doing whatever it is you do at this hour?” 

“I was thinking I would just shift my workout today.” 

“Your workout?” Raylan repeated, glancing at Tim. “Shift it to what?” 

“Breaking in the bed. Your words,” Tim reminded him. 

It was Raylan’s turn to chuckle, but Tim was perfectly serious. He’d already moved closer, his right hand working its way down Raylan’s body and slipping under his boxers to stroke his cock. It didn’t take long for Raylan’s dick to show its interest and Tim sat up, pushing the covers back as he moved down the bed. He pulled off Raylan’s boxers as well, settling in between the other man’s legs. Raylan was watching him, hands behind his head and a fond expression on his face. Raylan sighed and let his eyes drift shut when Tim took him in his mouth, suckling gently. As the pressure increased, it occurred to Raylan that he really ought to return the favor. 

“Tim,” he said, but Tim continued on his task, giving no indication that he’d heard him. “Tim,” Raylan repeated, a little louder this time, accompanied by a slight tug of the other man’s hair. “Swing up over here.” 

Tim released Raylan’s cock with a slight popping sound. “You serious?” he asked, unable to keep the grin off his face. 

“We’re breaking in the bed. Get over here.” 

“I can’t remember the last time I did a – ” 

“Less _talk_.” 

Tim took the hint and quickly stripped. His own cock was glad to be free of its confines and when Tim repositioned himself, Raylan was ready for him as he was made aware when he sank into the heat of Raylan’s inviting mouth. _Jesus, the angle was perfect_ , Tim thought as he tried not to thrust automatically, allowing Raylan to take him in gradually. Raylan rarely deep-throated him, but Tim suspected that he’d be able to get it out of him this morning. The shift of the hips beneath him reminded Tim that he had his own task to finish and he smiled as he went back to suckling Raylan’s cock. The room was silent except for the sound of their own breathing and the slide of skin. Tim’s wish was granted when he felt his cock hit the back of Raylan’s throat. The pressure was exquisite and he was close, really close. He had to release Raylan’s cock just then, lest he did something unintentional and regrettable. He was thrusting now, short and shallow in that narrow, tight space and Raylan accommodated him like a pro. When he came, his knees nearly gave out on him. Tim was breathing heavily, the scent of Raylan’s arousal musky and strong. 

“You plan on finishing up down there?” Raylan asked, when he released Tim’s softening cock. 

Tim pushed the fog of post-orgasm bliss out of his mind and sat up. He turned around, still straddling Raylan as he reached for the bedside table next to him and pulled open the top drawer. “Don’t you godamn say it,” he warned as he took out a tube of lubricant. 

It was too late. The bed was already shaking with Raylan’s gentle laughter. “It’s an admirable trait, Deputy Gutterson,” he said in a fondly mocking tone. 

“Asshole.” 

Raylan was still chuckling as Tim reached backward and stretched himself, one hand braced on Raylan’s chest for support. Raylan gave him more balance by placing his hands on Tim’s hips. He quit laughing when Tim sank back on him a few moments later. “Shit,” he grunted as the sudden tightness gripped him like a vice. Tim had been in a rush and he hadn’t stretched himself as well as either of them normally would and the self-satisfied smirk on his face told Raylan that he was fully aware of it. 

“Finish me off then.” 

Tim obliged, leaning forward with both hands now gripping Raylan’s shoulders as he rode the other man, Raylan’s hands on his hips giving him that extra bit of leverage. It was just a few thrusts before Raylan came. 

“I don’t suppose you got a towel in that drawer,” Raylan chided when he could speak again. 

Tim glared at him, but whatever retort he was going to make was swallowed by the kiss that Raylan pulled him down for with a hand at the back of his head. Tim’s resistance was brief and he melted into the kiss, tasting himself in Raylan’s mouth. 

“Don’t think that’s always gonna work,” he said in mild annoyance when the kiss ended, now resting comfortably on top of the other man. 

“It’s gonna work most of the time,” Raylan countered good-naturedly. 

Tim sighed in exasperation. Raylan was always so damn confident. 

They lay like that for a while until Tim’s Ranger training insisted that he get out of bed or run the risk of being late. He sat up but as he was about to move off the other man, Raylan put a hand on his waist to stop him. 

“Don’t over think this,” Raylan said seriously, holding Tim’s gaze. 

Tim’s nod was barely perceptible. “Don’t expect me to make you breakfast.” 

“The thought never crossed my mind. Can you at least wake me in an hour?” 

“I can do that.” 

Tim finally got off the bed, gathering his clothes as he did so and pulling the covers back up. Just as Raylan was turning on his side to go back to sleep, Tim tossed him a soft, white face towel.

* * * * *

Tim never did plan on making Raylan breakfast, but he did leave a short note telling him where to find things in the kitchen if Raylan was inclined to make breakfast for himself. Tim knew it was unlikely. Raylan was a black coffee, slice of toast kinda guy, although Tim also knew that when Raylan decided to have breakfast, it was a _real_ breakfast. None of that European continental shit.

When he passed by Raylan’s room an hour later, he found the bed empty and heard the water running in the shower next door. He rapped on the bathroom door, even though he knew it wasn’t locked. 

“Heading out,” he called, opening the door a crack. “Got an errand to run before going to the office.” 

There was a muffled reply, which Tim translated into ‘See you later.’ He shut the door, rapping one more time in acknowledgement before leaving the house.

* * * * *

Raylan was on the phone when he entered the courthouse, filling Winona in on the aftereffects of the Drew Thompson case. Winona had her own news, the kind that absolutely floored him as he stood in the center of the office, not registering that the spontaneous applause was meant for him.

“Hold on,” he told Winona when he figured out what was going on and bowing as graciously as he could (which wasn’t much). The applause grew louder and he pointed at his phone. “I’m on the phone. Seriously.” 

He caught Tim’s amused expression in the background and Art’s puzzled one as the applause finally tapered away and the office hummed with its usual morning activity. He was still reeling from the news that he and Winona would be having a baby girl and all he could manage to say in response by the time he reached his desk was, “That’s . . . uh . . . great news.” 

When he got off the phone, Art was standing in front of his desk, his puzzled expression looking more deeply puzzled. “What’s the matter with you, Raylan? You’re not used to positive attention?” he asked. 

“Oh, no. I love that,” Raylan replied off-handedly. “Can we continue?” 

Tim shook his head. “Nah, the moment’s passed.” 

“So sad,” Raylan said, giving him a mocking smile. 

“Congratulations, anyway,” Rachel said as she passed by him on the way back to her desk. “Again,” she added, referring to their celebration the night before. 

“You ditched me last night,” Art went on. “And your partner,” he added, nodding in Tim’s direction. 

“I’m sure you handled the schmoozing just fine, Art,” Raylan told him. 

“I was handling it just fine until my wingman ditched me too,” Art replied, giving Tim a long look, which Tim shrugged off. That is, until Art’s next words. “Turns out you were his ‘hot date’ as well.” 

“I beg your pardon?” Raylan asked, voice perfectly calm but he didn’t dare glance in Tim’s direction. 

Art was the best damn grapevine in the whole office, but this was just ridiculous. Unless Art also turned out to be psychic, there was no way he could possibly know about them. They’d been so discreet. 

“Heard about the whole housemates-flat-mates-moving-in thing. Whatever you want to call it.” 

Raylan glanced at Rachel then, who gave him an apologetic shrug before sipping her coffee to avoid his accusing look. Raylan decided to go with the joke, even though Tim was probably going to kill him. 

“Yeah, we figured the sex would be easier that way.” 

“Uh-huh.” Art looked unconvinced. “You two spending more time together? I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.” 

“Yeah? Why’s that?” 

“You already reinforce each other’s bad habits,” Art stated. “God only knows what you’ll get up to if left to your own devices.” 

“Afraid we’ll turn Tim’s place into a frat house?” Raylan asked. “’Cos the goal is to hit six keggers before midnight.” 

Art looked so irritated by Raylan’s flippancy that Raylan decided to take a different approach. “Why you got to see this so negatively anyway? It’s like a two-for-one deal. You need one of us and you get both of us. Maybe we’ll even reinforce each other’s _good_ habits.” 

“What? You mean he’ll get you to come to work early?” Art fixed Tim with a hard look. “Don’t you dare start coming to work late.” Then he turned back to Raylan. “That presupposes you have good habits to begin with.” 

Raylan’s reply was cut off by David Vasquez who was in the conference-interrogation room with Drew Thompson. “You two better get in here,” he said, motioning that Art and Raylan should join him. 

Art gave Tim and Raylan a final appraising look before turning and heading to the conference room. Raylan turned to Tim once Art was gone, pitching his voice low and only for the other man’s ears. It hadn’t escaped his notice that Tim hadn’t joined in during his sparring with Art. 

“Thought you were going to have a coronary for a moment.” 

“That wasn’t funny,” Tim said seriously, voice equally low. 

“Sure it was,” Raylan said, shuffling some papers to buy some time before going to the conference room. “It’s called hiding in plain sight. ‘Sides, it ain’t any of Art’s business whether or not we live under the same roof. And he didn’t mean what he said.” 

“I think he did.” 

“He likes us,” Raylan interjected. “Sure, there are times when he probably wants to kill us – me, in particular – but, trust me. He likes us.” 

“Raylan, get in here!” Art barked. 

“Case in point.”

* * * * *

After some drama in the conference room and then more drama in Art’s office, Raylan managed to sort of stave off his suspension just long enough to take care of some unfinished business. Art clearly didn’t understand what the pressing need was to get Ellen Mae, nor did Tim for that matter, judging by his grumbling all the way to the parking lot. Raylan thought Tim was still unsettled by Art’s unintentional joke and subsequent prodding. He just needed to get it out of his system.

“After last night, aren’t you sick of him yet?” Tim asked Rachel when she went to the passenger side of Raylan’s car. 

“Well, you’re just a ball of sunshine that I’d rather not be trapped with all the way to Harlan,” Rachel replied. 

It was a sign of Tim’s exasperation that he really did roll his eyes. “See you two down there,” he huffed. 

“I’ll follow you,” Raylan called as Tim got in his vehicle. 

Tim gave a wave of acknowledgement before shutting his door. 

Raylan was rather enjoying the drive to Noble’s holler until his conversation with Rachel took a particular turn. 

“So, how long have you and Tim been sleeping together?” 

It was a testament to Raylan’s unflappability that the car didn’t veer to the side at Rachel’s question. However, he wasn’t quite ready with an answer either so he gave her a sideways glance, silently asking her to elaborate. 

Rachel took the hint. “I saw the look on Tim’s face when you made that joke about the sex being easier,” she explained. “Oh, he covered it up well but it was a look that said you weren’t joking at all.” 

Raylan nodded and gave her a rueful smile. “Well, Rachel,” he said. “It’s a good thing the whole office isn’t as observant as you.” 

“You mean Art.” 

“No, I mean the whole office but especially Art.” 

“So?” Rachel prodded. 

Raylan had to admit that it was hard to lie to her. “A couple of months,” he said at last. 

“I wouldn’t have guessed.” 

“That was the point.” 

“Y’know, there are no specific regulations against fraternization unless you were his immediate superior. This isn’t the military and even the military doesn’t have those rules anymore.” 

“We prefer to keep it our own business.” 

Rachel accepted this and the conversation switched to other topics until they reached Noble’s. 

“Listen, don’t mention this to Tim,” Raylan said, following Tim’s SUV as it turned into the narrow road that led up to Limehouse’s slaughterhouse. “He’s not comfortable with it yet.” 

“You mean the whole moving-in thing? Or just the idea of being with you?” 

“All of it and then some,” Raylan answered, not mentioning that the moving-in thing had been Tim’s idea. 

“Fine. I can keep your secret.” 

Raylan gave her a thankful smile. “Is this the part where you give me the ‘If you hurt him . . .’ speech?” 

“I ain’t giving you that speech. You’re the one that’s probably going to come out of this burned anyhow.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Raylan, in case you haven’t noticed, relationships are your Achilles heel,” Rachel explained, matter-of-factly. 

Raylan looked at her in shock. “Well, I s’ppose given my track record of late . . .” 

“Uh-huh.” 

Raylan stopped the car, parking right behind Tim in Limestone’s driveway. Rachel unbuckled her seatbelt, but before she unlocked the door she gave Raylan a hard look. “If you hurt him . . .” she began. 

Raylan laughed as he got out of the car.

* * * * *

The rest of the day moved quickly after their little talk with Limehouse. Rachel and Raylan went into Harlan proper to drop by Johnny’s Bar, leaving a still somewhat disgruntled Tim behind to wait for the state troopers to arrive and search Noble’s. They didn’t find Boyd at the bar, but the visit proved to be fruitful as the man himself called and inadvertently told them where Ellen Mae was. Raylan was immediately out the door, calling Tim on the way.

“Staties there yet?” 

“Dogs and all,” Tim answered, still sounding a little peeved. 

“We know where Ellen Mae is. She’s up at Cassie’s church, the one you told me about. You’re nearer than I am and Boyd’s people are on their way. You need to get there before they do.” 

“Got it.” 

By the time Raylan arrived at Cassie’s church, he’d missed all the action for a change. Colton Rhodes was dead, a single gunshot at point blank range courtesy of Tim. Ellen Mae was in custody. Apparently, Ava had been there as well, but she’d been released after she’d given her statement. 

“Anybody else hurt?” Raylan asked Tim as he eyed Colton’s body, sprawled out on one of the church benches where he’d landed when he’d died. 

Tim shook his head. 

“You okay?” 

Tim nodded and Raylan had to admit that this was the most relaxed he’d seen Tim all day, including that morning. Tim was at ease, like a weight had been taken off his shoulders. 

“Ellen Mae?” 

Tim nodded in her direction. _All right, he was a lot more laconic than usual._ Raylan followed the nod and found Ellen Mae, her usual giddy self somewhat subdued by the day’s events. She was still awfully talkative though, asking after Shelby. Raylan put her in the front seat of his car and went off to look for Tim again. He found him sitting at a picnic bench opposite a blond woman that he assumed to be Cassie. 

“Hey,” he said, putting a hand on Tim’s shoulder. Tim looked up at him and smiled warmly. Raylan returned the smile before he could even think about it. 

“Cassie, this is Raylan,” Tim said, making the introductions. 

“Pleased to meet you,” Cassie said politely, but her expression was cool and her eyes flicked to Raylan’s face before resting on the hand that was still on Tim’s shoulder. There was something calculating in that look and Raylan found himself casually dropping his hand. 

“Heading back with Ellen Mae,” he told Tim. “See you at Lexington?” 

“Sure,” Tim replied. “Shouldn’t be much longer here. I think the locals got it covered.” 

“All right then.” 

Raylan gave Cassie a nod before going back to his car. He got the distinct feeling that he’d just been sized up by a little church girl.

* * * * *

It was after-hours at the Lexington Marshals’ office and Raylan was still in the conference room, surrounded by a small pile of paperwork and his second mug of the office’s notorious coffee. They really had to convince Art to change the brand. Or get a new machine. Something. The shit was barely palatable and tasted even worse at the end of the day.

Tim strolled in just then, pulled out one of the chairs and fell into it. Raylan glanced at him for a moment, inordinately pleased that Tim was getting better at slouching. 

“All that paperwork’s still gonna be here tomorrow,” Tim pointed out. 

“The trick is to get it all done today ‘cos I’ll be suspended tomorrow,” Raylan answered. 

“Technically, you were suspended today.” 

Raylan stopped writing and looked at Tim. 

“Just saying,” Tim said with a shrug. “How much more you got left?” 

“Not too much,” Raylan said, resuming his report. 

“You could –” 

“Not doing that,” Raylan cut him off. 

Tim grinned. “Yeah, I wouldn’t do that either,” he agreed. “How was the reunion?” he asked after a while. 

“Tearful. Joyful. The usual.” 

Tim shook his head. “I still don’t get why we went to all that trouble for a whore,” he said. “We didn’t need her. If Drew Thompson wanted to gum up his deal, that’s his business.” 

Raylan stopped writing again and sat back. “You’re right, we didn’t need her,” he agreed. “But I don’t like loose ends and Ellen Mae was a big one. If you get a job, you gotta be thorough, see it all the way through. That, and it was the right thing to do.” 

Tim was shaking his head again, but the expression on his face was a mixture of incredulity and fondness. “God damn, Raylan. You really are a white knight.” 

Raylan shrugged but there was a faint smile on his face. “On occasion.” 

“So, what happens to her now? We just toss her back out to the wolves?” 

Raylan picked up his pen again and continued writing. “That’s Art’s call. There’s more to Ellen Mae’s story. Drew intimated as much. Said she needed ‘protection’ and it’s not just ‘cos of her association with him. That’s why he brought her to Limehouse in the first place.” 

“Cassie said something similar,” Tim said thoughtfully, “about Ellen Mae. Said that Ellen Mae ended up back at the Church so that she could confess, though Cassie didn’t give any details about what Ellen Mae ‘fessed up to or if she confessed at all.” 

“Your friend, Cassie,” Raylan began. “She’s carrying quite a torch for you.” 

“What?” Tim looked genuinely shocked. 

“You haven’t noticed?” It was Raylan’s turn to look incredulous. “I was with the two of you for less than five minutes and I was nearly scorched by that flame.” 

Tim began to laugh. “Raylan, you’re imagining it.” 

“Trust me, I’m not. That woman sized me up like I was the competition.” 

Tim had stopped laughing but he was still grinning. “Well, that’s ‘cos you are.” 

“That presupposes there’s actually a competition.” 

“I like to keep my options open.” 

“You had your white knight moment today too,” Raylan went on. “Saving all those damsels-in-distress from Colt. You okay with how all that went down?” 

Tim’s good humor diminished somewhat at the mention of his dark mirror. “You asked me that earlier,” he reminded Raylan. 

“You didn’t give me an answer earlier.” 

“I _nodded_ ,” Tim corrected. “Non-verbal speech is still speech.” 

Raylan glared at him. “And it’s too damn late for a lesson in linguistics.” 

“You’re the one who won’t take ‘okay’ for an answer.” 

“And you’re the one evading the question.” 

Tim leaned forward, deadly serious now. “Colton Rhodes was an asshole junkie addict who killed my friend and got what he deserved. You wanna talk about loose ends? He was mine.” 

“There. That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” 

Tim sat back, realizing that Raylan had just baited him. He probably should’ve been pissed but found that he wasn’t. Not really. _God damn him._

Raylan picked up one more form. “Last one,” he said, sounding distinctly relieved. 

Tim put his right hand in his pocket and felt around. When his fingers closed around what he was looking for he took it out and placed it on the table, pushing it in Raylan’s direction. 

“These are yours.” 

Raylan looked up and his eyes landed on the set of keys in front of him. He gave Tim an inquiring look. 

“My errand this morning,” Tim explained. “Dropped by for them when I got back from Harlan.” 

Raylan picked the keys up. “They’re labeled too,” he observed. 

“Thought about color-coordinating them. I hear it helps four-year olds.” 

“Now that we’re being all domestic,” Raylan said, slipping the keys in his pocket. “I probably should’ve asked you this sooner but . . . you cook?” 

“I barbecue. You?” 

“I can throw things in a frying pan.” 

“We’re eating out tonight.” 

“I got a craving for greasy Chinese food,” Raylan admitted. 

“I know just the place.”


	4. It's a Bad Man's World

Picker dug his hands a little deeper into the pockets of his leather jacket. The wind was surprisingly brisk at the airfield in Kentucky. Of course it was nothing compared to Detroit or Philly, but it was still more than he expected from the Bluegrass State. This was his first trip to Kentucky and Picker was sincerely hoping that it would also be his last. The whole trip had been one giant cock-up after another. Nothing was what he’d expected it to be, least of all the cowboy Marshal that had outsmarted them at every damn turn, driving up the body count and arrest rate to unacceptable levels. It was ridiculous. How could one man be so much damn trouble? If there were more feds like him, Tonin’s entire outfit would’ve been taken down years ago. The Marshal was playing for the wrong team but unlike Nicky Augustine, who he privately thought was a fool for meeting the Marshal face-to-face like this, he didn’t think Raylan Givens could be bought. Bobby Quarles had thought so once too (and he had been a smart bet until he’d fucked up and gotten on Theo’s bad side) and look how he’d ended up. Taken down by the same Marshal. Picker didn’t know what Givens’ play was tonight, but the whole thing made him uneasy even when Givens turned up alone, without a wire and armed with a single Glock 26. He didn’t even have his badge and that’s what put Picker on edge most of all. Maybe Givens’ wasn’t being a fed tonight and didn’t that make him even more dangerous? 

Picker hadn’t gotten to where he was by pissing in his pants, so he calmly searched the Marshal and then escorted him to Nicky’s limo. They’d even had a pleasant conversation along the way and Picker thought again that the Marshal was on the wrong team. They got along. He could work with a man like this, work _for_ a man like this. Later, after everything had played out and Nicky was dead, he realized that the Marshal had been giving him a heads up with all that talk about plane crashes. Givens’ had engineered Nicky’s execution and he’d done it all without pulling the trigger and still managing to stay on the right side of the law. 

Picker had arrived in Kentucky as Nicky Augustine’s right-hand man with the sole mission of capturing Drew Thompson; dead was acceptable but preferably alive. By the time he boarded the plane heading back to Detroit, he was Sammy Tonin’s right-hand man and Drew Thompson was in the Marshals’ custody. The trip had been a complete bust but he was still standing because that’s the kind of man Picker was. Still, he hoped Sammy would never send him to Kentucky again, and he hoped that that was the last he’d ever see of Raylan Givens.

* * * * *

It was only Raylan’s second day of his suspension and Tim couldn’t believe how eventful it’d been. Actually, he _could_ and that was disturbing. Raylan had gone from the office straight into a hostage situation of the woman he loved and his unborn child; killed three gun thugs, unarmed and without back up. That’s why Tim was now at the house of Winona’s sister, watching while bodies were being wheeled out into waiting coroner’s vans. Raylan had that quiet fury about him, and just the right spark would set it off. Tim felt sorry for anyone that would stand in his way.

He kept his distance as Raylan powwowed with Art and David Vasquez. That didn’t look like it ended too well. Then Raylan saw to Winona, who was thankfully unharmed – traumatized, no doubt – but physically unharmed. As Winona went back in the house to get what she’d need for her stint with the protection detail, Tim finally approached Raylan. 

“I guess it’s too much to ask for you to let someone else take care of this?” he suggested. 

The look Raylan gave him was blazing and Tim almost flinched, even though he knew that heat wasn’t meant for him. 

“That’s what I thought,” he said, answering his own question. “You could lose your job over this.” 

“Art made that very clear.” 

“But that’s not going to stop you.” 

A silence fell between them during which they both knew what the other was thinking, but it was Raylan who spoke first. 

“Tim, I know what you’re going to say but this is something I gotta do on my own. It’s not worth it _you_ losing your job over.” 

“You don’t think you’re gonna need back-up, going up against Nicky Augustine and his whole crew? You’re fast, Raylan. But you’re not that fast.” 

“I’m just gonna have a chat with the man. Tell him what’s what.” 

“And afterwards?” 

“We’ll see.” 

“Raylan.” 

“Tim.” 

Raylan grasped him by the arm and led him to the side of the ambulance where Winona had been looked over to give them a bit more privacy. 

“I know you wanna help and I _appreciate_ that –” 

“ – but you’re not gonna let me.” 

“What I need from you is a little trust.” 

“Well, that’s not asking much.” 

Raylan sighed but there was a faint smile on his lips as he shook his head. “I need you to trust that I know what I’m doing,” he said slowly. “Think you can do that?” 

Tim was leaning against the ambulance now, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his marshal jacket to hide the fact that they were balled into fists. “I’ll work on it,” he said grimly. 

Raylan took a step toward him, bordering on invading Tim’s personal space and for one wild moment, Tim thought that Raylan might actually kiss him. But Raylan backed away, hands on his hips as he said, “I’ll see you at home then.” 

Tim felt a warmth suffuse him at those words – it was the first time that either one of them had used the word ‘home’ – and his own anger and tension fell away. “Yeah,” he agreed. “You will.”

* * * * *

It was a lie though, because Raylan didn’t come home that night. He didn’t call either and Tim thought he showed remarkable willpower in not jumping into his vehicle and going after the other man. He slept fitfully. In the morning, Raylan still hadn’t turned up and there were no messages waiting for him. Tim went through his morning routine mechanically, but also strangely calm. The anxiety from the previous night had disappeared even though he hadn’t received any reassurances that Raylan was actually okay. It was just something he _knew._

By the time he got to work, he knew it for certain. The Theo Tonin Succession Drama had resolved itself in rather spectacular fashion with Sammy claiming the throne and Nicky Augustine being executed, mob-style in his limo. Shakespearean, indeed. 

It was midmorning when his phone finally rang with a familiar caller ID. 

“Good morning, sunshine,” Tim said. 

“Ain’t it just?” Raylan sounded tired. 

“I take it you already heard the good news?” 

“If you’re talkin’ about Sammy Tonin’s ascension to the throne, then yeah. Art just called me to gloat.” 

“But you already knew before that, didn’t you?” 

“I had an inkling.” Raylan paused. “I should’a called you sooner,” he began. 

“No worries,” Tim cut him off. “It’s like therapy when you work on something like trust issues. I _trusted_ that you would handle things. And you did.” 

Raylan’s soft laughter carried down the line. 

“How do you feel about trusting me to come up to Harlan after work?” 

“What’s in Harlan?” 

“Aside from me?” 

“Not sure you’re worth the drive. On a Friday night after the week I’ve had?” 

“Well, think of a trip to Harlan like a weekend getaway. You get me, fantastic sex, cold beers, great views and a griller that you can show off your barbecue skills on.” 

“That’s the best you can do?” 

“Take it or leave it.” 

It was Tim’s turn to laugh. “Seriously, what are you doing up in Harlan?” 

“Now that I have all this time on my hands, I thought I’d do some work around the house.” 

“You mean patching a hole in your wall.” 

“Among other things. You coming up or what?” 

“Make sure you have good sirloin.”

* * * * *

It turned out that Raylan was serious about spending the weekend in Harlan. Considering the state of the house the last time they’d been there, Tim could see why it would need some work. The sun was still up when Tim arrived (he’d taken off early. Art had given him a look but said nothing) and Raylan hadn’t been kidding about the view. It really was quite beautiful in its burnished orange and gold. It was peaceful up here. So peaceful that it was hard to believe that a hole in a wall with a diplomatic pouch and a driver’s license had started that crazy chase. It was equally hard to believe that Drew Thompson was responsible for both jumpstarting Harlan’s economy and drug syndicate at the same time. And at the center of it all were the Crowders and the Givenses, two clans even more connected than either Raylan or Boyd had realized. It was just another link between the two men that added to the puzzle that was their love/hate friendship.

Maybe if you thought hard enough about something, that something would turn up since life could be funny that way. At least, that was the only explanation Tim could come up with when he stepped out of the house, freshly changed in a casual flannel shirt with two cold beers in his hand to see Boyd Crowder talking with Raylan in the front yard. 

Boyd had turned in Tim’s direction at the sound of the screen door banging. “Why, Timothy,” he said by way of greeting before looking at Raylan. “This day continues to be full of surprises.” 

“Didn’t realize we were on a first-name basis . . . _Boyd_ ,” Tim said in return, coming up to stand beside Raylan and handing him the other beer. 

“Do I get one of those too?” Boyd asked. 

“That would imply you were staying,” Raylan answered. 

“I take it this is a Marshals-only gathering then? Your dedication to your job is admirable, especially since you’ve been suspended. Is that right? It would explain why you weren’t wearing your badge last night.” 

Tim stiffened slightly at Boyd’s words. Of all the things Boyd could’ve said, that was the one Tim hadn’t been expecting to hear. Boyd, perceptive as always, noticed Tim’s reaction as well. 

“Oh, you didn’t tell your partner what you were up to? Turning up solo in my bar like that. Even the Lone Ranger had Tonto. Maybe you two should work on your communication skills.” 

“Our communication skills are just fine,” Raylan replied. “Non-verbal speech is still speech as I’ve been told.” 

Tim took a drink of his beer to hide his smile. 

“It surely is,” Boyd agreed. “And your speech don’t get any clearer than when you talk with your gun. That was a good play last night, Raylan. And to think I was talkin’ about evening out your odds when you didn’t even have to pull the trigger.” 

“Stayed that long, did you?” 

“It was hard to miss the fireworks in my rearview mirror.” 

Tim was growing more and more unsettled by the conversation but his neutral mask didn’t falter. He and Raylan hadn’t had a chance yet to talk about what had happened the night before. Tim honestly didn’t know if Raylan would’ve even told him this much. He wondered if Boyd suspected that too and that’s why he was dropping all this information. But to what end? What was Boyd’s play? 

“What’re you doing here, Boyd?” Raylan asked. 

“I came to pay my respects to your daddy,” Boyd answered. “But I surely did not expect to find you here, much less Deputy Gutterson.” 

Boyd was looking thoughtfully between the two of them and Tim remembered Raylan’s words about Cassie sizing him up. He got the impression that the same thing was happening here, that Boyd was figuring out something that Tim would rather that he didn’t know. 

“Well, you’d be the only one to do so,” Raylan said. “The rest of Arlo’s friends are either dead or in jail. I’m surprised you didn’t bring Ava with you. I know she was fond of Arlo too.” 

It was at that moment that Boyd’s cool façade cracked. There was a stricken look in his eyes as though Raylan’s words had cut him deep, even though Tim didn’t think that had been Raylan’s intention. It was fleeting but unmistakable and Tim knew that Raylan had seen it as well. 

“I take it you haven’t heard then,” Boyd said slowly, his mask now back in place. “Ava is in police custody. Funny how you make a threat like that and then it comes to pass.” 

The surprise on Raylan’s face was genuine. His body language had changed and his voice was softer, less confrontational when he spoke. “Just for the record, I didn’t have anything to do with that. Just like you didn’t have anything to do with Winona.” 

“I believe you, Raylan,” Boyd replied and Tim was amazed at the rapidly shifting dynamics between the two men. A moment ago, the taunting and verbal barbs had seemed on the verge of escalating to another level, but now Raylan seemed almost contrite. And Boyd? Boyd sounded like he was looking for reassurance as though he wanted Raylan to tell him that everything was gonna be all right even though there was no way in hell that Raylan was gonna do that. 

“I never thought you’d take Ava in last night,” Boyd went on, almost speaking to himself, his eyes on the ground. Then he looked up and held Raylan’s gaze. “If you’d just asked me nicely, I would’ve come.” 

“I’ll remember that, Boyd.” 

Tim was lost now, unable to follow the silent communication between the two men and what was really being said behind those words. He thought they’d forgotten he was even there. He was mistaken about that when Boyd suddenly turned and addressed him. 

“Be careful with him, Timothy. He’ll break your heart, even if he doesn’t mean to.” 

Tim was much too stunned to reply but it didn’t matter because Boyd was already walking away from them. “I’ll see you around, Raylan,” he called. 

Raylan didn’t answer.

* * * * *

By the time Boyd had gotten in his pick-up and driven off, Tim had recovered somewhat from Boyd’s final remark. At least, enough to speak.

“What the hell was that?” 

Raylan was taking a long drink of his beer. “That,” he said at last, “was an unexpected visit.” 

“I’m not talking about that.” 

Raylan eyed him warily. “Then what are you talking about?” 

Tim wasn’t sure himself. _Everything_ , he wanted to say. Instead he said, somewhat accusingly, “You brought _Boyd_ with you last night? I offered to help and you declined. But you accepted _Boyd’s_ assistance?” 

“That’s not what it was like,” Raylan objected. “I didn’t choose Boyd over you. Boyd was a _means_ , my way of getting to Nicky. I _used_ him.” 

“Maybe that’s what you tell yourself,” Tim said, the anger building now. “But that’s not what it sounded like. He would’ve come with you, if you’d just _asked_.” 

“Why the hell does this even matter?” 

_Because it does!_ Tim almost yelled. “I dunno, Raylan,” he said, so calmly that he was frightening himself. “Maybe it’s ‘cos I see a pattern here.” 

“What?” 

“It wasn’t too long ago that Miami gun thugs were after you and who did you bring to back you up? Boyd Crowder. Now Detroit is gunning for you and who do you turn to? Boyd Crowder.” 

Raylan was shaking his head. Tim couldn’t tell if it was in disbelief or denial. Maybe a bit of both. “That thing with Miami,” he said through gritted teeth. “That’s just how it played out. I didn’t know you well enough then.” 

“Yeah, I guess we didn’t start to get to know each other until I began sucking your cock.” 

“Tim.” Raylan’s voice was dangerously low now. “Boyd dumped all that shit out there ‘cos he wanted to drive a wedge between us.” 

“And why would he want to do that, Raylan?” 

Raylan was frozen by those words, as if he’d realized that he’d said too much. 

“Why would that drive a wedge between us,” Tim pressed. “Unless you weren’t going to tell me that stuff yourself?” 

“I would’ve told you, if you’d really wanted to know.” 

“But you wouldn’t have told me voluntarily. You would’ve waited for me to ask.” 

“Would you have asked, Tim?” 

“It’s funny you talking about competition, Raylan, when the real competition is the one I’m having with Boyd Crowder.” 

Tim knew he’d crossed the line. Raylan was really pissed now. Tim could see it in every line in his body, in the slant of his eyes and he didn’t give a shit. He was pissed himself. 

“Tim,” Raylan said warningly. “Don’t go there. There’s shit you won’t touch for whatever reason and I don’t push. I don’t ask. This is mine.” 

It was an unspoken ultimatum. There was a time in the very near past when Tim wouldn’t have dared go this far, but he was feeling raw and vulnerable in a way that he couldn’t recall having felt before and shit, was this really worth losing Raylan over? He sighed, the fight leaving him. 

“I’m gonna go marinate those steaks. You want another beer?” 

“Sure,” Raylan said, dropping the issue just as easily. “I’ll set the griller up for you.” 

“Thanks.”

* * * * *

There was something to be said for cooking, Tim thought as the flames licked the prime sirloin that Raylan had bought. He had to hand it to Raylan too. The cowboy knew his meat. Raylan had also picked up a cob salad to go with the meal, a peach cobbler courtesy of Lisette’s and a box of instant mashed potatoes.

“It’s just add milk and butter,” Raylan had said, reading the instructions on the box. “How hard can that be?” 

“I think there’s some whisking involved,” Tim had told him. 

“Whisking, huh?” 

“Whisking.” 

Raylan didn’t whisk manually, but his Aunt Helen did have one of those twin electric whisking contraptions that worked just fine and even Tim was impressed with the fluffy, smooth consistency of the mashed potatoes. 

So all they were waiting for now were the steaks, which were just about done. It was already dusk and the burnished gold of the late afternoon had given way to the violet of twilight. They’d decided to eat outside, on an old picnic table that they set up beside the griller. Raylan was sitting at that table now, nursing his third beer, legs stretched out in front of him. 

“Dinner is served,” Tim said, putting one medium rare steak on Raylan’s plate. “Try it without the steak sauce first,” he recommended. 

Raylan obliged, cutting into the tender meat. “Jesus Tim, this is really good.” 

Tim sat back, satisfied and took a long drink of his beer. He was on his fourth bottle. “It’s my one true culinary skill,” he said. “The only thing my father taught me that’s worth a damn.” He paused, realizing that his dad was one of the issues that Raylan had referred to earlier that Tim never spoke about and Raylan never asked. When he met Raylan’s eyes, he could tell that the other man knew this too. 

“Well, that’s more than Arlo ever taught me,” Raylan said easily, allowing Tim to direct the flow of the conversation. 

Tim knew what he ought to say. It wasn’t all that hard to keep things safe. But fuck, nothing with Raylan was safe anyway, why should this be any different? 

“About what I said earlier –” 

“You wanna know what happened last night?” 

Tim was floored. How did Raylan _do_ that? 

“Only if you wanna tell me.” 

“I used Boyd to contact Nicky Augustine to set-up a meeting at the airfield. Nicky was about to fly back to Detroit to take care of Sammy Tonin. I met with him in his limo, asked him to surrender and he declined.” 

“How’d you know he wouldn’t kill you on the spot?” 

“I didn’t, but since he agreed to meet . . .” Raylan shrugged. “Didn’t seem like his style. Men like Nicky, they want you to suffer before they kill you. In my case, that meant getting to Winona and the baby first. But Nicky had other priorities at the time.” 

“You mean Sammy Tonin.” 

“Sammy Tonin is still a pussy, one that needed a push in the right direction to claim his rightful throne.” 

“And you gave him that push?” 

“More like a phone call. I suggested that it would be in his interest to come down to Kentucky. Sammy can be quite agreeable like that.” 

Tim nodded, recalling Boyd’s words and Art’s descriptions earlier. He could fill in the rest for himself. 

“Nicky never saw it comin’, did he?” 

“No, he didn’t.” 

“Could’ve played out that way anyway.” 

“Yep, it could’ve.” 

Tim began cutting into his own steak. It could’ve played out that way without Raylan’s intervention, but it was highly unlikely. Nicky Augustine would’ve gotten the jump on Sammy Tonin and then come back to kill Raylan and his family. Now Raylan, Winona and the baby were safe and the Dixie Mafia was a different outfit. They weren’t necessarily better – they were still the cornerstone of organized crime in the east south-central region of the country – but Art was right. Sammy Tonin was no Nicky Augustine. He wasn’t Robert Quarles either, but there was no denying that it was still a bad man’s world. People like Raylan, Boyd, and even himself, they moved easily in that world and really, what did that say about them? 

“I’m not an idiot, Raylan. I know this isn’t going to last.” 

It was Raylan’s turn to not see that coming, judging by the look on his face but to his credit he didn’t play dumb or shy away from the topic. 

“Not if you sabotage it even before it gets off the ground,” he replied, serving himself some cob salad. 

“Nothing’s forever these days. Happily ever after is only a fairytale.” 

“Well, hell. Even fairytales aren’t fairytales unless we’re talkin’ Disney.” Raylan took a drink from his beer and watched Tim carefully. When he put the bottle down, he said, “Rachel told me the other day that relationships are my Achilles heel and she’s right. Hell, I wouldn’t get into a relationship with me.” 

Tim gave him a wry look. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” 

“Point is,” Raylan continued, “we both know this isn’t going to last. There’s no use doing any of that psychoanalysis bullshit, trying to figure out what works and what doesn’t. It just is. So we might as well enjoy it while we have it.” 

Tim looked thoughtful. It sounded like a pretty good plan to him and hadn’t they been playing everything by ear so far? 

“What’s next for you?” he asked. “Now that the thing with Nicky Augustine is over?” 

“You mean, how do I plan to enjoy my suspension?” Raylan rephrased with a smile. 

“I’d think of it as a forced vacation,” Tim offered. 

“Well, Winona’s gone to Salt Lake to spend some time with her mother. Thought I’d join her there for a week or so. If I don’t start taking some of those birthing classes with her, she’s gonna find another birthing coach.” 

“Fun.” 

“Don’t you dare get pregnant on me.” 

“I’m religious with the birth control.” 

Tim felt a lot better. The banter was light and familiar. It was something they fell back on easily. In fact, it was probably the defining trait of their relationship. Tim had never had this kind of ease and familiarity with anybody else. It was how he knew that Raylan was special. Of course, Raylan then had to go and put his foot in it. 

“Winona’s not the only one I love, y’know.” 

Tim nearly choked. “God _damn_ it, Raylan,” he sputtered. “Will you stop _doing_ shit like that?” 

Instead of being upset, Raylan looked amused. “I’m not sure what ‘shit’ you’re referring to,” he said honestly, “but that wasn’t quite the reaction I was expecting.” Raylan held up his hands. “No pressure, Tim. You don’t have to say anything.” 

It was the last straw. Tim completely lost it. “No pressure?” he snapped. “I’ve been feeling the pressure all damn week. Everything’s moving so fast now. And yeah, it’s what I want but that’s just it. I’ve wanted it for so long that none of it feels real. Like it’s all just gonna disappear in a puff of smoke if I breathe too hard.” 

Tim was so caught up in his own personal freak-out that he didn’t notice that Raylan had stood up until he was being hauled out of his seat and swept into one of those infuriating kisses. _God damn him._ Tim understood now why kissing had been off the menu for so long between them. When Raylan kissed him, it was just pure evil. 

“I told you that wasn’t always going to work,” he said petulantly, still wrapped in the other man’s embrace when the kiss ended. 

“And I told you that it was gonna work most of the time.” 

“This isn’t one of those times.” 

“ _Yes_ , it is.” 

Tim rested his head on Raylan’s chest, his grip around the other man’s waist tightening a little. Raylan still had one arm around his waist, but the other was now running down his back in a soothing motion. 

“You’re over-thinking . . . again. It’s all right if you don’t feel the same way.” 

Tim shook his head. “You really are an idiot,” he said. “Of course I love you, you asshole. I’ve been waiting for _you_ to figure that out.” 

Raylan burst out laughing. “Well, now that I’ve caught up . . .” he trailed off, looking at Tim fondly. 

“Boyd said you were gonna break my heart.” 

“I won’t.” 

“Yeah, you will. But that’s okay. It’ll be worth it.” 

 

**Fin.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, folks. _Under the Black Light_ is done. Thank you all for reading.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Justified_ belongs to FX, Graham Yost and Elmore Leonard. No offense is intended, no profit is being made.


End file.
